Editor’s Note: The following script was written by Matthew the Astrologer, for his blog last year. Shanna sent it along, and we agreed it was too funny for you to miss. Happy Holidays! –RA
Scene: The Nativity. Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar gather around the Christ Child. Mary and Joseph listen intently in the background.
Balthazar: …my major concern with this birth chart is that it shows potential for conflict with authority figures. You might want to teach him to be a little more respectful of Caesar, just to be careful. At least publicly.
Caspar: Don’t be silly. He’s a revolutionary, and the world needs more of that. This Jupiter/Saturn configuration, though… could be liver trouble.
Melchior: Look at the stare on this kid. He probably has something we haven’t even heard of yet, right on the Ascendant.
Caspar: (chuckling) You and your undiscovered planets, Melchior. Seriously.
Balthazar: I think what we’re trying to say here, Mr. And Mrs…
(Looks back and forth at Mary and Joseph, who do not respond, but simply smile as if they know something the astrologers don’t)
Balthazar: …um, Carpenter, is that anyone born into this world has to cope with certain inherent limitations. And a birth chart is like a road map to all of life’s obstacles. And emotional issues!
Caspar: And medical problems!
Balthazar: So you see, although it does appear that your boy here is, in fact, some sort of a really special person, the indications are of a shortish life span… like maybe 35 years tops. And it’s going to be a struggle. Like with authority figures.
Caspar: No real signs of wealth here either. And possible death by piercing or blood loss.
Balthazar: So we really recommend relocating the birth chart. You should consider a move to Gaul, or Germania, or something.
Caspar: His relocated chart to Hispania puts Venus on the Ascendant. He’d be a lot more popular with the girls there.
(Balthazar and Caspar turn to Melchior, who has fallen silent, staring at the baby)
Caspar: Melchior, you’ve hardly said a word. By this point you’ve usually told the parents all about the baby’s future marriage and food allergies. What’s the problem?
Melchior: It’s just… the way this kid is looking at me. It’s like… it’s like He Knows Something that we don’t.
(Balthazar and Caspar laugh uproariously)
Balthazar: You’re such a cut-up, Melchior. We’re the Wise Men. We’re astrologers!
(Caspar leans in close to Melchior)
Caspar (whispering): Besides, look around dude. The kid was born with the livestock. Everyone wants to think their baby is the Greatest Thing Ever… but this one is an obvious non-starter.
Balthazar: Sorry folks, we have to move it along here. The Moon’s nearly at the Midheaven, and we have a party to work at Herod’s.
And thank you Rachel. Good share. Especially, the day after the family festivities where I had to walk on egg shells around the “born again most pious one” who was constantly censuring me because of what her 15 year old son might hear.
After The Christmas Story was on round two on the tube in the background of the festivities I turned to Current TV and the info tech was doing his 2008 techie review and apparently said BJ in the conversation. She was apalled that I would tune into such a station. “He said BJ.” I asked what is that and my 11 year old nephew said blow job. She left the room to alert the other adults.
Good grief! So I tuned into the Nutcracker. Only problem was it was french choreographer Bejert’s interpretation and there was an old drag queen in a big white wedding dress playing an accordian (I think it was the dance of the sugar plum fairies, not sure, but it was entertaining and the kids got a laugh out of it). And the dancers wore black berets, black capes, and black biker shorts. Two couples pas de deuxed in gold lame’ and red lame’.
I just couldn’t win so I handed the pious one the remote. The Christmas Story went on.
Oh, Fe — thank you! Yes, how can a guy compete with SIX HEALTHY BULLS? Pity the poor furniture maker.
Happy Thursday to you!
Rachel:
This is from Jeff Lieber, a Hollywood script writer and one of the funniest diarists at Daily Kos:
I’ve just discovered my wife has been unfaithful.
by JeffLieber
Tue Dec 23, 2008 at 06:01:21 PM PST
Look, I understand times have been pretty tough; what with half my flock suffering from footrot, the constant sandstorms across the Judean, this Census of Quirinius which is nothing more than a pain in everyone’s donkey (excuse my French) and, y’know, the road back from Nazareth is just one sig-alert after another (Beth-Lehem Ephratahian drivers are the worst… THE WORST I tell you!), but no amount of suffering can excuse my wife’s LYING TO ME in order to cover up her wanton, marital indiscretions!
“An angel of God came and impregnated me,” she told me on that fateful Silent Night.
I mean, REALLY, do I look like I was born since the last daybreak!?!
I guess, at first, I WANTED to believe because I can do math like the next guy and seeing as Mary and I had gone through a LEAN time where relations in the tent were concerned… (I chalk it up to my sciatica, her colitis, and, of course, the plague of locusts)… there was no way the baby bump belonged to me.
But then I thought, if she were going to make up a story, why not go with something simple and plausible to exaplain the pregnancy, like accidental kissing in a wet bathing suit, then something SO AUDACIOUS as a seminal messenger from the BMOU (Big Man On Universe) with the white beard?
I mean, a “virgin birth”?
It’s so improbable– so divine– so positively Hellenistic in its grandeur!
Not since Hera accepted Zeus’ whole “I accidently swallowed the pregnant mother of Athena, which is why she’s being born out of my forehead” scam has ANYONE tried to sell a conception tale so improbable.
So, on chutzbah alone, I originally bought into the story, but now we’re stuck in this nowhere, two olive tree town, Bethlehem, and there are these three weird, costumed dudes with useless presents (I get the gold, but frankincense, and myrrh? Haven’t these fools heard of an IPhone?), and I’m starting to obsess about how “handsy” Chet from accounting was when I was so preoccupied with the Goldberg settee and love-seat matched set back in Jericho!
Y’know, Chet… with the good hair… and the strong neck muscles… and the SIX HEALTHY BULLS?
(How am I supposed to compete with SIX HEALTHY BULLS? Ugh, I’m such a fool!)
And here’s the real kicker… I really LOVE this woman and I still want to believe she LOVES me and though I’m pretty convinced that little Schmul of Nazareth (that’s what I want to name him, after my great-great-great-grandfather Schmiddle who begat Humertill whobegat Darrilamphir who begat Crastamuddul) is probably not MINE, I want a son so badly and I’m starting to think… what’s the harm in playing along?
People seem into the whole “Angel of God” thing, but it’ll get old and they’ll eventually just FORGET, right?
I mean, its not like two thousand years from now people will be running around erecting, I don’t know, decorated evergreens and celebrating the birthday of the great Schmul of Nazareth?
So, I go with the flow and and raise my son to build furniture like the all the rest of the family!
Merry Day Before The Day Before Thursday, folks!